Signaling the bartender, I order three shots of tequila and tell him to keep them coming, pointing over at Greg I say, “He’s paying.”
Greg shakes his head but pulls out his wallet and hands his credit card over to the bartender to start a tab.
“Bottoms up, bitches.” I say, quickly downing all three shots.
We spent about an hour at the bar, just taking in the atmosphere and the general vibe of the place. Well, Dee and Greg might have been taking it all in, but I was too busy keeping my drinks flowing. Dee was keeping my pace, but she isn’t on the same mission I am. Her goal is fun and mine is to become numb.
I had just stolen her second Jack and Coke the bartender put down before she could drink it. I look at her, smirk and down it.
“Seriously, Iz…you can’t even pretend to share?” She has a small frown on her face. She knows what I’m doing and she isn’t happy about it but being the friend she is, means she will stand by my side and catch me when I fall.
I had just ordered us a round of Tight Snatches, vodka, peach schnapps, orange and cranberry juice, when I catch their eyes on me. At first, I thought they were reacting to my decision to only order off the wall drinks but when I looked closer, I saw it; the concern, the worry, and the uncertainty on how to proceed.
I picked up my drink and announced, “Alright, let’s fucking party! You’re only thirty once, whoooohoooo!” I’m screaming; why am I screaming again? Giggling, I look up at Greg, catching his eye as he looks down at me with his stoic face, shaking his head and accepting that his friend is well and truly sloshed. I can see his lip twitching, trying so hard to remain the untouchable body guard.
The hell with this.
Laughing even harder, I grab their hands and drag them out to the middle of the dance floor. Belatedly, I notice how much easier it is to walk on these sticks when you can’t feel your legs. Lesson number one for hooch wear, be drunk. It might make dancing more of a challenge, but I wasn’t feeling a thing and it was beautiful.
The song changes to the familiar beats of Macklemore & Ryan Lewis’ ‘Can’t Hold Us’. It fills my ears and pounds into my bones. Throwing my arms up, I turn around and look up at Greg, who is still trying his hardest not to laugh. I let the music take over my body, invade my muscles and penetrate my soul with the pulsing rhythm. I can feel Greg behind me now, unmoving, nothing different there. Dee is moving right along with me, just as enthralled with the music as I am. She looks over at me with a knowing smile. I give her the first real smile I have felt all day. She knows how to move, we used to be regulars in the club scene during college…before Brandon that is. With a wink to clue her in to my intentions, I turn around and wrap my arms around Greg’s neck. Even with my heels I have to come way up on the balls of my feet just to reach him. Smiling, I begin to move with his tall frame, not an easy task. His hands finally grab ahold of my hips and dig in. Dee peeks around his from his back and gives me a smirk and we start grinding together. I can feel the rumbles of his voice against my chest when he whispers in my ear, “You’re lucky I love you, baby girl.” I laugh up at him, noticing his expressionless face is finally smiling. He hates dancing but Dee and I have made it a mission, on the rare occasions we go out, to torture him as much as possible. He knew this was coming; it didn’t mean he had to like it. He puts up with this because he wouldn’t dare leave our sides. He knows what kind of trouble the two of us could get into.
When the song ends we head off laughing to the bar, once again, with the excuse to rehydrate. Maybe that’s the case for them but for me it’s all about replenishing the alcohol I just burned off on the dance floor. I can feel my buzz slipping and we can’t have that.
We’ve been at Carnal for a few hours now. The last time I had even attempted to gain the time, the hands on the clock started dancing. I ask Greg, who says it’s a little after 1:30 in the morning; sure we can go with that.
Dee and I have been taking turns ordering the most outrageous drinks we can think of; with the help of our phones and Google of course.
“Gimmie two Golden Showers, bartender!” I scream across the bar. When did someone take my last drink? What was that one? A blow job, I think. Yes, that was it. We spent a good fifteen minutes laughing our asses off after making Greg drink one. He is currently giving us a look of extreme displeasure. He can act as mad as he wants but yelling for Greg to deep throat his blow job was hilarious. Just ask the customers around us, they certainly laughed loud enough.
Even during times like this, when you know he could be doing something better with his time, he wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. He’s been a constant presence in my life since that day he showed up with Dee. The big brother I never had, always there when I needed him the most. I can tell by the way he keeps looking around the crowd that he has slipped back into that protector mode; it’s almost like he constantly thinks something is out to get him. Or me. I shiver, Brandon isn’t ever far from my thoughts, especially not after the package. I can tell when Greg looks at me like he is afraid I might break at any moment that his thoughts are the same.
Dee’s slurred voice interrupts my thoughts with a high pitched screech. “YO bitch, drink up! I got you one of those pull down pussy things, no…it was the pussy panty pull-down? Fuck.” She spits the word out with so much frustration she almost falls off her stool. She looks over at me and I can see her trying to decide if she is more confused over the correct drink name or how she got to the club to begin with.
“That’s not right, Dee! Greg! Greg, tell her the right pussy! You know pussy, right Greg?” I laugh up at him, tilting my head to the side, wondering why his frown is wobbling.
“You two are driving me fucking crazy. Just because I know my pussy doesn’t mean I know this shit. I eat it and when drinking it down, I damn sure don’t do that out of a fucking glass. For shits sake, get some motherfucking water next time. Fuck me, the right pussy.” He shakes his head at us both. “If you touch one more drink with a fucking pussy in the title, we are gone, got me?”
Well. He thinks he runs this show, does he?